Текст книги "Changeling"

Автор книги: Cate Tiernan

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7. Witch Fire

Brother Thomas’s wound continues to fester. He is near delirium, and I fear he will lose the leg. Brother Colin, I must set this letter aside; Father Benedict has motioned to me. I will finish later.

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Father Benedict came to me in all gravity and voiced his concern about brother Thomas. He commanded me to go seek help from a village granny-wife. I asked if that was not like asking for help from the devil, to which he replied that God judges what is good or evil, not man.

In the village no granny-wife would see me, but Nuala Riordan come with me and is still with Brother Thomas. I tremble in fear for out very souls: she is chanting devil’s words over him, fixing him foul teas, applying seaweed poultices to his wound. To my mind it would be better if he died rather then have the devil heal him.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, June 1768.

I pulled into our dark driveway and felt Das Boot's big engine stop with a tremble. What a night. It had been incredible. Now I had to go in and steel myself to call Eoife, to tell her I had asked Killian to call Ciaran.

I was almost to my front door, keys in hand, when suddenly every bit of alcohol I had drunk flooded back into my brain with a whoosh. I staggered on the walk, dumbfounded. Oh my god. Killian's spell had worn off—what if it had worn off while I was driving? Now I was completely polluted again.

Inside the house, I dumped my stuff on the floor and literally clawed upstairs to my room. How much had I drunk? More than I ever had in my life. My stomach felt iffy, and I began to regret downing those whiskey sours.

Ten minutes later I lay in my bed with the spins, wanting to cry. The room was rocking back and forth as if I were on a ship, my stomach felt extremely fragile, and I had to get up to go to school in about six hours.

A moment after that I realized that the dull, heavy pounding I felt in my head was really someone banging on my front door. Jesus who could that be? I tried to focus my senses to cast them but couldn't concentrate. I was all over the place and started to panic. Then I heard the front door open—had I locked it? – and footsteps thudding up the stairs.

"Morgan!" Hunter yelled, right before he opened the door to my room. I looked at him stupidly while he stormed over to loom above me in my bed. "Where the hell have you been? I sent you a witch message, I've been calling your house. Do you think this is a game? Do you think—"

"I tried to call you earlier!" I said, my voice sounding thick. "Your phone was busy!" Then, with a sickening rush, my stomach gave notice that it was about to rebel. I stared at Hunter in horror, then lunged towards the bathroom I shared with Mary K. I just barely made it to the toilet before everything I had eaten and drunk that evening came back up.

Throwing up is the most disgusting thing I can think of. I flushed the toilet after the first time, but then I vomited again and again, my stomach muscled heaving. I felt the little blood vessels around my eyes burst and I wanted to cry but couldn't yet.

The only thing worse than barfing your guts up is doing it in front of someone you love desperately and are no longer with. I didn't hear him follow me, but my face crumpled with sobs when I felt Hunter's strong, gentle hands carefully lifting back my long hair. He twisted it away from my face while I was sick, and then when I sagged against the porcelain, he stepped away long enough to wet a washcloth with cold water. He stroked it over my face as I sat mortified, humiliated tears filling my eyes.

"Oh, God," I muttered in misery.

"Can you stand up?" His anger had dissipated. I nodded, and Hunter helped me over to the sink, where I brushed my teeth three times, feeling shaky and hollow. He wet the washcloth again, gently pressing it against my face and the back of my neck under my hair. It felt incredible.

Feeling completely defeated and beyond any hope of redeeming myself, I shuffled back to my room and collapsed on my bed. That was when I realized I was wearing only the Wonder Woman undies Bree had given me month ago as a joke and my dads threadbare MIT sweatshirt. Hunter was rooting through my dresser and finally found a long sleeved rugby shirt, that had seen too many washes. Businesslike, he came over, stripped off my sweatshirt, then popped the rugby shirt over my head, helping my arms find the sleeves.

Then he left my bedroom, and I slid sideways in my cool comfortable bed, knowing my humiliation was now complete. Hunter and I had made out seriously before, and we'd put our hands under each other's shirts, but he'd never seen me in nothing but my Wonder Woman undies.

Hunter came back into my room, holding a cold can of ginger ale. He poured it into a glass and helped me sit up again so I could sip it. It was nirvana. "Thank you." My voice sounded harsh, scraped.

"So you've been drinking a bit," he said unnecessarily, taking the glass from me and putting it on my bedside table.

I moaned pathetically, burying my face in my pillow. I still felt wretched but much, much better since my stomach had gotten rid of the poison in my system. The spins were gone, and the awful queasiness.

"Liquor dulls your senses," Hunter said mildly, stroking his hand down my hair, across my shoulder, down my side. I pulled the covers up past my waist. "It makes your magick go awry if you don't compensate for it. That's why most witches just have a little ceremonial wine, at most…"

I started weeping, and he shut up. He didn't have to tell he this—I didn't have to tell me this—I didn't want to drink again in my whole life. "I was with Killian tonight. He told me why Ciaran inherited his mother's coven and not her, but didn't get anything else. But I did ask him to ask Ciaran to come here." Then I burst into tears, holding my pillow, feeling like I was releasing days' worth of tension, fear, and worry. Hunter sat close to me, his hand on my neck, smoothing my hair. He didn't say shhh or anything to make me stop crying but just waited while I got it out.

Finally I slowed down to shudders and hiccups. I gazed up at him through tear-blurred eyes, thinking how incredible he looked, how attractive and appealing and sexy and magickal, thinking about how wonderful and caring and thoughtful he had been tonight. My heart was breaking all over again. And here I was, having just been horribly sick in front of him, having him see me in my joke underwear and nothing else, and knowing that I looked like a total bowser when I cried. It was too much to bear, and I closed my eyes against the onslaught of emotional anguish that rushed over me.

"Tell me more about tonight, love," he said gently, leaning over me.

Slowly I reported everything that Killian and I had talked about it. It seemed extremely thin. I was a failure. I talked going to the bar tonight, and everyone drinking, and Ethan falling of the wagon. I confessed to Killian's working weather magick, but not that I had done it also.

"Then right before he left me, I asked him to call Ciaran. He said he's think about it."

"You did well," Hunter said. He looked at me and seemed to say something but then decided against it. Instead he stroked my hair down my back. I realized I was completely exhausted, hollowed out, wrung out, numb.

"Go to sleep," Hunter whispered.

"Mmm-hmm," I muttered, my eyes already closing.

"By the way," he said from the door, "nice knickers."

The he was gone, and despite how horrible I felt at the moment, I was smiling because I had seen his face, just for a little while.

The next afternoon Killian was waiting for me, the faithful spaniel, on his usual stone bench. It was odd—my heart was glad to see him smile. I was really glad to see his smile. I was really beginning to like Killian. He was completely irresponsible and a bad influence, but nice. I immediately wanted to ask him about Ciaran—I was down to ten days now and Ciaran was nowhere in sight—but then I remembered Eoife's pep talk from the Starlocket circle. How pushy could I be without turning him off or making him suspicious? I decided to play it by ear.

He rubbed his hands together when he saw me walking toward him, Robbie and Bree in back of me. "What's up for tonight?"

"Anything that doesn't involve alcohol," I said. I thought briefly about my vow to study tonight but then figured that saving Starlocket mattered more than memorizing a lists of presidents.

Anyway, there would be plenty of time to study after Imbolic.

Killian threw back his head and laughed. "We have to get you up to speed," he said.

Even in our hung-over state, we all gravitated toward the good time Killian seemed to promise, and half an hour later we were sprawled in Bree's family room. I tried to sit next to Killian, determined to find out if he had passed my message on to Ciaran.

We were all making fun of Bree's awful CD of French pop music when the doorbell rang. When Bree came back to the family room she was followed by Sky Eventide, Alisa Soto, and Simon Bakehouse, who was also in Kithic. Jenna and Simon had recently started going out. Sky looked at Raven, who was leaning toward Killian, offering him a bite of a mini powdered doughnut.

Killian looked up at the newcomers and gave them a welcoming smile, licking powdered sugar off his lips. Bree, the good hostess, introduced him. Simon smiled politely.

"I remember Sky," Killian said in a silky voice, smiling into her eyes. Sky narrowed hers at him so they looked like slits of obsidian. She was dressed in formfitting black clothes, which made her moonlight-pale hair stand out in stark contrast. She turned to look at Raven, who had a bored expression on her face.

Simon sat next to Jenna, putting his hands on her knee as she smiled up at him. Across the room Matt looked like he'd just bitten a lemon. Alisa seemed uncomfortable and awkward and very young. She perched on the edge of the couch, and I wondered why she had come. This wasn't an official circle, after all.

"Well!" said Bree, artificially brightly. "Who needs something to drink? I have seltzer, juice, sodas, of I could make coffee or tea.

"How about a drop of whiskey?" Killian asked.

Only someone who knew Bree as well as I did could tell she was disconcerted by his open request. "Sorry," she said. "The liquor cabinet is locked."

Killian laughed. "Lock or no lock—it doesn't matter to a witch."

Bree wasn't so easy to influence. "Sorry," she said again, with a touch more warning in her voice.

My glance flicked to Ethan, who looked relieved. Sharon reached up and rubbed the back of his neck under his long curls. He have her a little smile, and she kissed him. I felt a renewed sense of warmth for both of them.

Only Bree was so irrevocably cool that she could say she didn't want to drink and not look like a Girl Scout. For the millionth time in my life, I admired her easy self-confidence.

We talked. We listened to music. We laughed at Killian's stories and told some of our own. Bree lit incense and candles when the sun went down. Her family room became a dimly lit, exotic, magickal place. Around dinnertime we ordered pizza and the people who needed to call their parents did. I checked in with Eileen to let her know where I'd be.

It was eight o'clock when I remembered again my intention to hit the books tonight. Today in school Mr. Alban had reminded us of an English composition that was due soon. My grades were slipping a little this semester—I had get it together. I looked over at Killian, who seemed to be enjoying playing Sky and Raven off each other.

I sidled over to him and touched his shoulder. He leaned toward me, smiling, and I put my face close to his to speak privately. He slanted his head towards mine, and I felt so duplicitous, like a user.

"I was wondering if you had contacted our father yet," I said bluntly.

His dark eyes met mine, and I noticed for the first time that they tilted up at the corners ever so slightly, like mine.

"Not yet," he said softly so only I could here. "You're more eager to see him than I am."

I didn't know what to make of this and was still pondering my next step when Killian got up to get another can of soda. Damnation.

The clock was ticking even now, but still, I decided that pushing Killian was a bad idea. As Eoife had cautioned, I didn't want to make him suspicious of my motives—he was already cagey enough. Reluctantly I got to my feet. "Gotta go," I said, trying to remember where I had put my coat.

"No, no, little sister," Killian protested. "The night is young yet, and so are we." He laughed, and I felt my body tense in frustration.

"I better go and study," I said feeling like a failure again. At least my schoolwork was something I could control. There was no chance of ending up at a pub on the edge of town with my history book.

"Stay, love," Killian said coaxingly, and suddenly his voice was like a velvet ribbon wrapping around my wrists, keeping me there. Maybe my studying could wait. "Stay, and I'll show you some special magick."

Well, that was something worth checking out, at least. I sat back down.

He grinned in delight and gestured to the others. "Sit in a circle."

When we were in a circle, Killian again rubbed his hands together, as if he were a stage performer. Sky, sitting next to him, looked as if she would rather be eating glass. Killian cupped his hands and blew on them (I was sure that was just for effect) and then tossed a little ball of blue, crackly witch fire at Sky. Startled, she caught it in her cupped hands, and it transformed into a ball of glowing, pinkish light.

"Pass it!" Killian urged her.

With a little shrug Sky passed it to Robbie, next to her. Robbie looked fascinated, his face bright and a little scared, holding it in his hands. When Killian waved toward him, Robbie passed it to Bree, next to him. And around it went, this glowing ball of light. When it was my turn, I thought it felt like an electrified pom-pom. When it got back to Killian, he bounced it on one hand and looked at us.

"Now add to it," he said, once again tossing it lightly to Sky. She held the light for a moment, concentrating. It glowed a bit bigger and brighter, and she passed it to Robbie. Robbie did the same, with less perceptible results. Of this group only Killian, Sky and I were blood witches. When we passed it, any change was less visible, but at the end of each circle round, the cumulative effect was definitely noticeable. And it became more sensitive to the increasing energy—after the fifth round Alisa passed it, and it jumped in size and brightness as it passed from her hands. She giggled nervously.

It was kind of a juvenile game, like hot potato, but it was also a beautiful, electric thing: making magick out of thin air. I could feel the magickal energy increasing, crackling around us, as if it were another presence in the room. Again and again we infused the light with our individual energies, watching it as it changed color and brightness, depending on who held it. I felt filled with light, with energy, with magick, and it was exciting and satisfying in a way that nothing else could ever be.

The next time it landed in Killian's hands, he held it and then suddenly shot straight at me. "Do something!" he commanded.

Without a moment to think, I opened my heart and my mind. I caught the witch fire lightly in my hands and spun it towards the ceiling, shaping it into a long blue stream of fire. Feeling the magick flowing through me, surrounding me, I let the energy do what it wanted to, and I opened my hand flat out to release it. It bounced against the ceiling and then shattered like crystal, raining down on us in prickly, multicolored sparks.

"Oh my God," Jenna breathed, her eyes reflecting the pinpricks of light.

Flowers, I thought, and in the next instant the shower of sparks had changed into a gentle rain of real, petal-soft flowers, brushing gently against our faces. Tulips, daisies, poppies, anemones, all in summer-bright colors, landing as light butterflies all around us. I smiled with pleasure at the beauty I had wrought. Witch, Witch, I thought, claiming the title as my own.

Then I looked up. My friends' faces were a mixture of disbelief, amazement, and a little bit of fear, from Alisa. Even Robbie who had been so concerned about my abuse of magick in New York wore an expression of amazement and joy. Killian was smiling big at me, a familial smile that made me feel more connected to him. Sky was watching me with solemn silence, and I realized—too late, as always—that I had just committed another Wiccan faux pas or worse. Inwardly I groaned. There were so many rules! Things that felt so natural were bound and regulated.

My next though was that I was supposed to get up extra early tomorrow morning to meet with Eoife before school. Hunter had relayed my report on last night's meeting, but I was supposed to check in with her in person.

I sighed and got to my feet.

8. Longing

Brother Colin, I have doubts that I have not been able to confess to good Father Benedict. MY brother, I fear I am possessed by an evil spirit. Since the night of Brother Thomas's healing, Nuala Riordan has haunted my waking moments and my dreams. Only during prayer does she not intrude upon my mind. I have mortified my flesh, I have prostrated myself before God. I have spent days and nights in prayer until I am half feverish.

My brother, if you have any hope for my immortal soul, please remember me in your prayers.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, July 1768.

My alarm went off at six-thirty on Thursday morning, I felt like I was trapped in an unending nightmare.

I pawed at the clock until the hideous noise stopped. Almost forty minutes later I woke again, wondering if it was time to get up for school. Then I salt bolt upright. Eoife!

I threw some food at Dagda, scrambles into jeans and a sweatshirt, quickly braided my hair, and was out of the house in less than twenty minutes. I was already late. My heart was pounding as I drove to Hunter's house, and not even the pinkish morning light soothed me. My life was out of control. Last night I'd gotten home after eleven. I had taken out my textbooks, then stared at them uncomprehendingly as me bed beckoned. Five minutes later I was asleep, with Dagda kneading the comforter next to me.

So for the last four days I hadn't done any homework, hadn't gotten enough sleep, hadn't gotten Ciaran to Widow's Vale. I was late for a meeting with Eoife, I wasn't checking in with her often enough, I'd made illegal magick… What the hell was I doing?

I pulled up fast in front of the somewhat shabby little house that Hunter and Sky shared. The back deck that Cal had sabotaged had been rebuilt. There was an ugly ligustrum hedge in front that had been ignored for many years that it was just a gnarled collection of half-leaved branched. My breath was coming in little puffs of smoke, I trotted up the walkway and rang their doorbell.

As I did, it occurred to me that I was at my ex-boyfriends house at seven-thirty in the morning, looking like total hell. True, I had broken up with him, and for very good reasons, but that didn't mean I had to make him glad about it when he saw me by looking like a wreck.

Eoife opened the door, her small face looking solemn as she looked at me, and I wondered if Sky had mentioned the sparks-and-flowers incident of the night before.

"Sorry, I'm late," I said. Without thinking I cast my senses through the house and discovered that Sky was asleep upstairs but Hunter wasn't in the house. Good. A reprieve.

"Do you always do that?" Eoife said as I followed her into the kitchen in back.

"Do what?" I took off my coat as Eoife poured boiling water into a waiting teapot.

"Cast your senses." She brought the teapot to the table, and smoky plumes of fragrance swirled above us. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent.

"Um…" I tried to think. "Yes, I guess so. I don't really think about it. But if I feel like I need to know what's going on, who's around, that kind of thing, then yeah, I guess I usually cast my senses."

She poured the tea into two delicate cups with saucers. "Who taught you how to do that?"

"No one, it just came to me." I circled my left hand over my tea, widdershins, and thought, Cool the fire. Now the tea was the perfect temperature, and I took a long sip. Aaahh.

Frowning, not angrily but as if perplexed, Eoife looked at me from across the table. "You cooled your tea."

"Uh-huh. It's great. Thanks for making it," Another big swallow, hoping this tea had caffeine in it. I couldn't tell.

"Morgan—" Eoife began, but then she shook her head. "Never mind."

I took a packet of Pop-Tarts out of my backpack and opened it. They're better toasted but perfectly edible cold if necessary. I offered one to Eoife and thought I detected a faint shudder as she refused.

Holding her teacup with both hands, Eoife said, "I'm sorry to tell you, Morgan, that Suzanna Mearis is still in a coma."

I looked at Eoife, and sudden guilt crashed down on me. The truth was, I had barely though of Suzanna in the last couple of days. I had been there to see her fall, I had witnessed the taibhs, I knew that her coven was destined for destruction, yet I had spent the last two days partying and abusing my power. What kind of witch was I? "Has anything else happened?"

"Not as of this morning, thank the Goddess." She put down her cup and gazed at me. "Has Killian spoken to Ciaran?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "He said I'm more eager to see him Ciaran than he is. I guess Ciaran is angry at him, and Killian wants to delay having to deal with it." I looked up at Eoife's chestnut-colored eyes, remembering again Suzanna's warm house and serene expression. "I feel like I should press harder," I admitted. "I know that you said not to make Killian suspicious, but Imbolic is getting closer and closer. Maybe if I told Killian I was desperate to meet my father again…"

I felt tension tightening Eoife's slight body. "No, Morgan," she said, leaning over the table. Her eyes burned in her porcelain face. "We have to tread cautiously. I know that this is difficult, but we mustn't destroy the mission by acting in haste."

I nodded slowly and looked deep into my teacup. "Okay," I murmured. "I'll keep working. Ciaran will come here, and I'll get information out of him."

Eoife sat back in her chair, her eyes still on me. "I'm sorry," she said again. "You make it easy to forget that you're young and uninitiated."

"I can do this," I said firmly, pushing aside my tea. Looking vaguely sympathetic, Eoife nodded back at me, and I picked up my coat and left.

School seemed more surreal then usual that morning since I had just come from a meeting with Eoife. I felt schizophrenic: high school student by day, undercover ICOW agent by night. In my first period I had barely sat down when my American history teacher, Mr. Powell, pulled out an ominous sheaf of papers. "As I mentioned last Friday," he said, starting to hand them out, "this is a test on what we've learned since the winter holiday's."

I stared at him in horror, then mentally said every bad word I could think of. Tara Williams handed the pile of papers back to me, and I took one and passed the rest to Jeff Goldstein. Just this morning I had worried about my life being out of control. Here was my proof. My grades had been slipping, and in three months I had gone from a straight-A student to straight-B student with maybe a couple if Cs, which my parents were going to freak about. Now I was about to get a big fat F on this test.

Unless…

Unless. I thought about Killian, about his charm, his skill, the easy comfort with which he did things. Life had not come pleasantly for my half brother, but he'd gone a long way to making it easier and more fun. What would he do in this situation?

I looked up at Mr. Powell. All it would take was a simple spell that would make Mr. Powell forget he'd intended to give us this test. Or to think this one was the wrong test, and he'd bring another one tomorrow. Or to think we were supposed to have the test next week.

I bit my lip. What was I thinking? This was exactly what Hunter always talked about: making the wrong decision, making the decision that benefits only yourself, making the decision that doesn't take other people into account. He always said that was why the council had introduced regulations and guidelines back in the early 1800s. Because it's so easy to make the wrong small decision. And once you do, it's even easier to make the wrong big decision. And then, boom. You're part of the darkness.

I made choices every day, all day long. I needed to be more aware of all of them, needed to consciously try to make the right decision, a decision for good. I resigned myself to the fact that the only thing I would get right on this test was my own name.

When Killian wasn't waiting for me after school, I felt relief as well as disappointment. I could try sending him a witch message, I knew—but maybe that would make him suspicious. After all, we had seen each other almost everyday this week. Would I seem to clingy if I called him today, too?

"Want to come hang out?" Bree asked as I walked toward Das Boot. "Robbie and I are going to my house for a while."

"Thanks," I said. "But I've been letting a lot of things slide. I better go home and crank."

"Okay. See you later."

I started my car and turned the heater up. I wondered where Bree and Robbie were in their relationship and how it was going. Although I had been seeing my friends every day this week, I felt oddly disconnected from them. Being with Killian had meant only fun and magick. Unfortunately for my mission, it hadn't meant really talking to each other, sharing our feelings, getting closer.

Okay. Now I was all touchy-feely. This was getting me nowhere. I had to focus: concentrate on getting Killian to call Ciaran, getting closer to both of them, saving Starlocket. There wasn't any time to think about my own problems. And probably, I thought as my heart sank into my stomach, that was a good thing.

When I got home, I cleaned the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher for the first time since my parents have left, fed Dagda and cleaned his litter box, and called Aunt Eileen.

"Yep, everything is fine," I told her, trying to sound like that was true. "No—no coed sleepovers. At least not yet. Ha ha." After we hung up, I headed upstairs to my room and determinedly sat down at my desk. I would study for a while, then send a witch message to Killian, asking him about Ciaran.

I started with American history, reviewing chapters and making notes. I hoped that I could undo some of the damage of today's test with extra credit. Dagda came and settled himself on my desk right under the heat of the lamp.

"You have it good," I told him. "No school, no parents, no choices between good and evil. No history test."

Ugh. If only I could do a tàth meànma brach with Mr. Powell and just absorb all his knowledge. Then I could ace this class.

A couple of hours later I ate an apple with peanut butter for dinner and got ready to send a witch message to Killian. I was just calming my thoughts to do it when my senses tingled: Hunter was coming up the walk. I still seemed to be able to pick up on his vibrations more easily than I could almost anyone else's.

It occurred to me that the last time I saw him, I'd been throwing up my guts. So I felt really lovely and feminine, waiting for him to come to the door. At least this time my face was clean.

"Hi," I said as he stepped onto the porch.

"Hi." His green eyes swept me from head to foot. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Thanks for your help the other night," I said, not looking at him.

"You're welcome," he said, just as coolly. "I'm here to receive your report. Can we go inside?"

What report? I wondered. I'd given my report to Eoife this morning. Had he not heard it from her? Or was there some other reason he wanted to come over? Puzzled, I frowned at him for a second before realizing he had asked me a question.

"No, you're not supposed to be in the house. Here, let's sit in Das Boot," I said, digging in my pocket for the keys. It was frigid inside my car, and the vinyl seats didn't help any. But I blasted the heater, and a few minutes later we were comfortable.

"You met with Eoife this morning?" he asked, taking off his gloves and shoving them in his pocket.

"Yes. Is Suzanna Mearis still in a coma?"

He shook his head. "They did healing spells all day, and she woke up a little while ago."

I sighed in relief. "Thank the Goddess."

"Yes." Hunter nodded somberly, then turned his green eyes back to mine. "So tell me about Killian."

I shrugged. "I saw him yesterday at Bree's. Practically everyone from Kithic was there. I asked him if he had contacted Ciaran, and he said he hadn't. Didn't Eoife tell you this?"

Hunter frowned, and I got it: he was here because he had an excuse to be here, with me. Oh, Hunter, I thought longingly.

"Anyway," I said, looking at my hands, "I was about to send him a witch message, asking to get together."

"He's unbelievably slippery," Hunter said, almost to himself.

"Excuse me?"

"He gets out of everything, like an eel," Hunter went on. "He got out of New York before the ritual, he got off scot-free the night you were sick. He careens through life, having a good time and not worrying about anyone else."

"I think that's a little harsh," I said. "Killian's—incredibly fun. He's irresponsible, but I don't think he's hurtful. There's no reason to think he's deliberately keeping Ciaran from meeting me."

Hunter looked at me, and all at once I remember other times sitting in my car, with our hands all over each other and our mouths joined fiercely. I swallowed and looked away.

"Give up the mission," Hunter said quietly.

"No. I'm getting it done."

"I don't think anyone can do it. It's too dangerous. I think Starlocket needs to disband and get out of town."

"Why don't they?" I asked.

He sighed. "Covens never do. When they're in danger, they stay together, no matter what. A coven never splits up if they can help it. Almost never," he paused, and I knew he was thinking about his parents. "Most covens feel they're less at risk if they stay together—the dark wave can't divide and conquer them."